


Just The Way You Look Tonight

by artemyspyke



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is unnaturally supportive, Gen, Sam should do theater, Sammy sings, Songfic, This high school does not exist, Weechesters, but it should, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemyspyke/pseuds/artemyspyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is reluctantly tasked with picking Sam up from his after-school theater program, and is surprised with what he sees when he gets there. Partial songfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just The Way You Look Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyy.  
> I am not the Fonz.  
> But this IS my first fic on AO3, so naturally I choose my most awkward and pointless one to post. Clearly I am one for transitioning smoothly into new situations.  
> Nevertheless-- I hope you like this. It's nothing too serious, so enjoy, and drop me a review if you want.  
> No... pressure...

Dean Winchester grips the steering wheel tightly and swerves into the parking lot of Weston High School. Unlike most of the other schools that the Winchester boys have attended in years past, they’ve been at this school for almost two months already, and it looks like they might stay for a while yet. Dean can’t say he has much of an idea why, beyond some will of John’s. Maybe a lead on the demon, maybe something else. Nevertheless, settling in one place means that Dean’s little brother Sammy will inevitably find a niche in the social ladder, and Dean will have to deal with it.  


Like now.  


Dean growls and slams on the breaks. The front doors to the school are unlocked, because after school sports and activities require it to be so. The older Winchester brother wouldn’t describe his movement as stalking the halls, but one female teacher gives him a suspicious look, so he works to lighten the dark expression on his face. Even though he’s a senior in school this year, Dean has no idea where anything is, beyond his own classes, and how to get to each one. So he has to stop and ask for directions to the theater.  


“F-hall,” one of the office ladies offers with a point. “It’s the left wing, off of the commons room.” Dean gives her a terse nod, and exits the front office. As he grows closer to the auditorium, he knows he’s found the right place by the sound of odd upbeat music coming from the other side of the double doors. Grimacing, he pushes them open, and enters the Theater lobby. People hang out in here before the annual musicals, and other presentations. Dean’s never been one of them. The music is louder in here, and Dean can place the song as something he’s heard on the radio. A cover of an old song, by a new band. Someone’s singing it, but he can’t place who.  


When he crosses the lobby and tugs on the final entrance doors to the auditorium though, he later figures he probably wasn’t prepared for what he sees.  


There’s Sam, in the middle of the stage, microphone in hand. Other people surround him too, dancing, or singing along, but in truth, it’s... all Sam. Dean’s eyes widen as he watches his little brother belt lines from the famous jazz tune with uncharacteristic boldness. He thinks his knees almost weaken.  


“ _Yes, you’re lovely... with your smile so warm_ ,” he sings. Dean’s only ever heard his off-key bellowing in the shower, and his voice as he tries to shout along with their father’s cranked up rock-n-roll. This Sam, standing and smiling as he sings with his funny teenage voice, and the others dancing along puts something in Dean’s throat. His brother looks happy. It might be the bright stage lights, but his smile seems to gleam. And Dean’s not a poet.  


“ _And the way you look tonight_ ,” the chorus drifts. There’s a few beats of jazz music, and the other theater kids swing their hips along to the sound. It reminds Dean of something from an old movie. Instead of interrupting, he simply retreats back against the wall to listen.  


“ _Lovely, never ever change_ ,” Sam keeps singing, rocking back and forth and sending the girls goofy winks. There are other kids in the audience, singing along with their feet up on the backs of the chairs. Dean can’t see an instructor anywhere. “ _Keep that breathless charm. Won’t you please arrange it? Cause I love you..._ ” Dean swallows. The music slows, the line repeats, and then Sam takes a deep breath, before smiling and opening his mouth. “ _Just the way you look... tonight...._ ” He holds the final note, and when the music drifts off, everyone breaks whatever character they were in. Sam laughs and drops the arm that was holding the microphone. The other kids all clap and move off the stage to the front row seating of the auditorium. Dean keeps his place for another moment, listening.  


“Sam, that was so great.” One girl laughs, tapping her feet to the rhythm of the nonexistent music. Sam might blush, but Dean can’t tell from this distance.  


“Thanks,” he says. “It’s on the radio a lot when my brother drives me to school.” Sam ruffles his floppy brown hair, letting it fall back into his eyes.  


“We should do this more often,” another boy says. Everyone murmurs their agreement, and someone volunteers to sing a song of their own. Everyone cheers, and that kids rushes up to change the song on a boombox that Dean hadn’t seen when he’d walked in. The first notes start to play, Sam hands off the mic, and Dean feels that it’s time for him to step in.  


“Hey, little bro,” he says, striding down the auditorium aisle to the front couple rows. Sam spins around, looking surprised.  


“Oh. Hey, Dean,” he says. “How long have you been here?” He scratches the back of his head. Dean smiles.  


“Just arrived,” he lies. “But Dad wants us back soon; I just came to getcha. All done?”  
Sam nods, “Yeah, just lemme grab my bag.” He moves to the middle seats, where tons of other backpacks and kid gear are strewn in a circle on the dirty floor. Sam heaves one gray pack onto his back, and staggers back over to his brother. “‘Kay, let’s go.” He raises his voice, “See you guys on Thursday!” The other kids, too preoccupied in their own business hardly noticed Dean’s arrival. But they all turn and shout goodbyes at Sam as he and Dean walk back up the aisle.  


In the car ride back, it’s mostly silent.  


“Have fun?” Dean asks. Sam turns to look out the window.  


“I know you saw me sing, so just get it over with,” he replies in after a minute. Dean blinks.  


“Get what over with, dude?”  


Sam sighs. “You know, calling me gay or whatever. Just do it now, or forever hold your peace.” He turns to give Dean a sharp look. Dean is frozen for a moment, caught beneath the gaze of a defiant little theater-kid, before he tips his head back and laughs.  


“Gay, Sammy?” He laughs even harder. “I’m not making fun of you ‘cause you sing. I wish I could sing. I would make fun of you if you danced like that one kid was doing.” Sam gives him a questioning look, so Dean reiterates. “You know, that one kid behind you trying to show you up? Him and all his hip-wiggling. Yeah, that. Don’t do that.” He reaches across the cab to violently ruffle his little brother’s hair. “I’m glad you’ve got a hobby though. What kind of terrible older brother would fault’cha for that?” Sam smiles exasperatedly.  


“Thanks, I think?” he asks. Dean nods.  


“Yeah. And besides... there were a couple of hot girls in there. Try to score some of that.” Sam rolls his eyes.  


“Are you creeping on fourteen year olds now?”  


Dean barks another laugh, “Not at all, brother. Just imparting wisdom for you to use in the future.” Sam smiles.  


“Oh, of course.”  


They continue on in silence for a couple of minutes, until Dean reaches forward. As he presses the biggest button on the Impala’s ancient stereo system, classic rock music fills the cab, and Sam smirks.  


“C’mon, Sammy. Gimme some Freddy Mercury!” Dean says, making exaggerated grabby hands.  


And if the Winchester brothers spend the entire rest of the car ride trying to outdo each other in terrible off-key car-ride show-tune singing, well then... nobody has to know that. **  
**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
